


the air tonight

by creative_user_name



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:43:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9643073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/creative_user_name/pseuds/creative_user_name
Summary: penalty shootouts are draining, i guessor: why I shouldn`t write late at night: exhibit A





	

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written anything in ages. I`m somewhat sorry.

~~~~He’s exhausted. Full of adrenalin, yeah, but exhausted. He’s the second one to step up to the spot. When he lays the ball down, it doesn't feel right. He turns it one more time in his hands, shifts it a tad more to the right but it still doesn't quite _fit._ Stepping back, he tries to clear his mind of anything that isn't the ball in front of him but everything - from his muscles begging for release as he tries to build up tension in his body to the yellow wall on other side of the field - is just so _loud._ And the moment he hits it, he knows that it's not going to cross the line. There's nothing more he can do, so he just tries to hold off the disappointment as he watches the goalkeeper control the ball. He drags himself back to his teammates, linking his arms with theirs. They're still in the lead. The next thing he knows is all of them jumping around in a huddle, and it's delight and relieve and a thousand more things, he would never be able to name.

 

Felix doesn’t go home to his flat, he often doesn’t. There’s the facade of a discussion, a little bit of Felix pretending he doesn’t feel at home here and then they're already sprawled out on Christian’s bed, mindlessly scrolling through Netflix, which still is mysteriously logged into Felix’s account, when he says “I can’t believe how draining not playing can be. I couldn’t be more tired if I had been on the pitch myself.” “Shut up and help me choose. We could watch Cuckoo. Train your English.” “For when you go to England and forget you can actually speak German? Put it on, but I can not promise you that I`ll be awake much longer. How on earth are you not asleep yet?”

 “don’t know, still a little excited maybe?” It's really more a mumble than an answer and Felix of course picks up on it, “you don't look excited.” He nudges closer to Christian, puts on his best detective face and tries to make poking his friends chest look serious, “there's something else… you're not beating yourself up over that penalty, are you? Happens to the best.” The only response he gets is a little shrug that involves a shoulder to his chin because they're somehow so damn close. They`re probably both just too tired to move. Or to talk it seems, both of them falling silent now.

 

Minutes later, Felix nearly drifting off, there's a head turned, now resting against his chest, and a whispered confession. He doesn't know what to say, he rarely does. But he manages to lift a hand and run it soothingly through dark hair. “Thanks for being here though” Christian finally gets out. He somehow gathers the energy to raise his head, as if to prove the value of his words with honest eyes. “It's not exactly unselfish, Chris.”

And then Christian gets caught between the softness of the voice and the still present caring touch on the back of his head and something's just _different_. Maybe it's trying to forget the feeling of failure or maybe it's still riding on the feeling of victory or maybe it's both or maybe none of those. Maybe he's just finally too tired to resist.

 

It has been a while since he last felt that much at home. It has also been a while since he last kissed someone he so deeply cared about.

 

 

“Oh please just shut off that TV, Chris. And kiss me again.”

**Author's Note:**

> any thoughts?


End file.
